Nothing more
by YellowRosesAndHearts
Summary: Bobby looking for a word to qualify how he feels about Alex. Friendship and UST. BA.


**A/N: Strangely, this started as an EO fic. But then I realized the premise is better for BA. So it's Bobby searching for one word to qualify how he feels about Alex. I'm not brilliant or anything, so I probably didn't hit Bobby's character exactly. And besides, even though I like BA fics, I think on the show they are just platonic friends, so it's probably OOC because you have to swallow some things to begin with.**

**A/N 2: And thanks to all those who reviewed 'For Jonathan'. I felt so welcomed to the boards…lol.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, and that's good, because I'd screw them up.**

The one thing that he has never contemplated this being is a crush.

He's contemplated all the extremes around it, mind you. There's something just magnetic about her, and true profiler he is, he analyzes everything that intrigues him. And she tops that list. At first he thought it was just plain lust, the way he looked after her hour glass figure in those plain sleeveless tops she was so fond of wearing. But then she'd open her mouth and say something cute, or sweet, or witty, that affected the hell out of him, and then that theory would be shot to hell. No where in the definition of lust does it suggest actual, substantial, attraction, and he knows it. Bobby Goren can tell you both dictionary definitions of lust without missing a beat.

_Definition one: Unrestrained sexual attraction._ Well, no. Not unrestrained. He can control himself around Eames. He has to, because she'd kill him. Eames is a cop if he ever met one, and he knows that she has no qualms about nailing him in his "area" and would, in fact, come in the next day bearing coffee like nothing happened at all.

_Definition two: Sinful longing. _He's never been a religious guy, and he never will be. So sinful is a word that has never held much validity to him. Still, he's given the bible a once or twice over, and doesn't think how he feels is sinful Per Se. He's protective of her. He likes talking to her. He likes being around her, and his thoughts don't always stray immediately to the body she's carrying around. So no, that's out. Lust is out.

For a while after that, he had convinced himself that it was completely platonic. That was a laugh. But for a month or two, that theory was really working for him, and he liked it. He was beginning to get close to Eames and even began to think of her as "Alex" (Though he never called her that aloud). He didn't think of her as a sibling—that is, someone that you aren't excited about for seeing them so often, but she could be a cousin, he thought. Someone who he was excited to see, but not for_ that_. And then that theory was nixed. No, not nixed. Stomped on, trashed, burned, resurrected, and then stomped on, trashed, and burned again. Why, you may ask?

He saw her on a date. Enough said. Self aware man Bobby was, he knew that that twinge in his stomach, and raw desire to chuck Alex's date out the door and join her instead was not normal. And besides, he had learned the definition of platonic back and forth in his head, and it haunted him that night.

_Free from physical desire; "platonic love"._

Time to get a new theory.

By then it was time to consider the big one. The L word. Bobby loves things in his life, like everyone does. He loves his mother, and even in some way his younger brother. He loves the Smithsonian magazine, and the pasta that the lady down the hall makes for him. He loves his partner in that way that cops are expected to—he has her back, and she has his, and he appreciates the hell out of her. But with most cops, that's where it stops, and with him, that's just where it begins—he loves the way she moves, and the easy smile she gives him when she's trying to snap him out of one of his moods; he even loves the scent of the soap she uses, to the point that he recognizes it on other people, and yet, it never seems the same as when it's on her. He loves her, sure. But he's not _in _love with her. That's what he tells himself. That one little two-letter word, _in, _changes the meaning of the word entirely. To him, in love is marriage and children and all that. And he'll never be ready or willing to do that with anyone, not even her. Still, for those six months or so that he qualified his feelings for her as this, he would often lay awake on his couch and repeat the definition of love over and over again inside his head—never with happiness, but always with a feeling of impending doom.

_A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness._

This is too extreme for him, he decided today. While in some essence it's completely true, it's frightening. Being "one" with somebody, did it ever end well? Not in his life it didn't, and you could bet your ass on that. Love is too sloppy, too final for him. And so finally, this morning, he's decided it's a crush.

Light and fluffy, and something he would have never considered to describe his relationship with Eames. There are too many open holes in this theory and he knows it—his feelings are too deep, too loving, too tender, and too sexual for it to only be something used to describe a puppy love feel between sixth graders. But he likes it. No strings attached type of thing.

Later, of course, he'll go home and think and contemplate and think some more—he'll come up with more and more new words to describe the indescribable bond and connection that he has with her. He'll write the words down in the section of his ledger that he has dedicated to this purpose—finding a word to describe his relationship with Alex that he's comfortable with. So far, the closest he has come is love.

But for now, he's content to tell himself that a crush is a crush and nothing else.

**And, as they say on Warner brothers cartoons, that's all, folks! Review if you liked it. Review if was only okay. Review if you didn't like it. And above all, review if you hated it so much you want to run me down with a pitchfork. I like a little warning.**


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